Page 89 of Highlander’s Captive

Raising her head, she stopped. Although he couldn’t see her face under the hood, he knew her beautiful eyes would be wide and bright.

He jumped off the horse and went to her on weak legs.

“Oh, Craig.” She sobbed and dropped in his arms.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her tight to his chest. She was cold and wet and heavy, her clothes saturated with melted snow and partly iced over. She shook slightly, her cheek cool and wet against his.

Relief mixed with heartache filled him and whirled within him in a confusing, head-spinning mixture. But whatever his feelings were for her, she was clearly hurt and frozen, and she needed help.

His instincts had been right.

“I have ye, lass,” he whispered. “Ye’re safe now.”

“Thank you for coming for me,” she said through tears. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it.”

“Aye, of course I came for ye.”

He’d always come for her, he thought. He’d always come for her no matter what she did to him.

“Come now, we need to get ye warm quick. On my horse.”

He lifted her onto his horse. She sat in front of him and he pulled her close to his body to warm her.

* * *

Amy lay peacefully in Craig’s arms, fire playing in the fireplace in their bedroom. Her fingers and toes ached as the warmth came back to them. But she was dry, she was alive, and she was safe in the arms of the man she loved.

Outside, the snowfall was turning into a storm, wind howling against the shutters and sucking warmth from the room through the gaps.

The last thing Amy wanted was to leave the cozy confinement of Craig’s body. They were still in their makeshift bed, unable to bring themselves to get into the real one. Craig had sworn he’d burn the bed down, but he needed a new bed, and that had to be ordered from a carpenter.

They kissed, but they didn’t make love—Amy was too weak for that. And what had happened between them, the unspoken, heavy weight of the lies and the pretenses, was like an invisible barrier.

“Do ye want more tea, lass?” he asked.

The pot with tea hung above the fire, ready to be poured and served.

“No.” She nuzzled against his chest with the back of her head. “I’m okay.”

He chuckled but didn’t say anything.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing. It’s just that word…‘okay.’”

“What about it?” she asked, although she suspected what he’d say. It was a word from the future. Which was a giant elephant in the room they both avoided discussing.

“I dinna want to talk about it, not while ye’re recovering.”

Her stomach clenched painfully, till it felt like a knife was stabbing her. The state of peaceful, happy drifting was gone. She sat up, wrapping the plaid around her shoulders, and turned to look at him. His face was calm but for the tiny wrinkles of pain and worry around his eyes.

“Spit it out, Craig.”

Of course, it was about her lies. About the time travel. About what was the truth and where she had just pretended.

He held her gaze with his, the dark intensity of a storm thundering in his eyes.

“Aye. Good. I want to ken, why did ye deceive me? How could ye not tell me from the beginning that ye weren’t the Amy MacDougall I thought ye were?”